By Gavin Witt, Resident Dramaturg

“All this trouble over a fat little man in a red suit.” Or so goes the immortal line from that cinematic classic, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964). And maybe they had a point; after all, only about ten years earlier, little Jimmy Boyd scandalized the Catholic Church by singing about seeing Mommy smooching with the jolly jelly-belly. But by the time the chubby, cherry-cheeked cheerleader of chuckles took on the space invaders, he’d already made quite a journey, at least figuratively.

Back in the 4th Century, he was Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, in Asia Minor (modern Turkey), not to mention designated Defender of Orthodoxy and Holy Hierarch. Maybe it was his additional designation as Wonderworker that hinted at what was to come. Tales of his life naturally accumulated after his death—stories of restoring life to three young boys maliciously slaughtered and pickled in brine. Or surreptitiously strewing purses of gold as a miraculous dowry for some wannabe brides. He lived a life of legends and miracles and adventurous travel: was imprisoned in Rome, came to blows with a king over doctrine, and survived a shipwreck by sailing to shore in his own hat. After his death and declaration of sainthood, his remains were ultimately smuggled off to Italy, and he was adopted as a patron by many, from children and travelers to thieves.

St. Nicholas steadily gained popularity through the Middle Ages, to the extent that he trailed only Jesus and Mary in having shrines, churches, and other edifices dedicated in his honor. Harkening back to some of the stories of his life, he becomes increasingly associated with customs of gift-giving, and his feast day (December 6th) is celebrated with gift exchanges as well as much rejoicing. Later, the figure of St. Nicholas appeared in hybrid form as Kris Kringle in German Bavaria, and as Sinterklaas in Belgium and the Netherlands—then relocated again with the Dutch settlers to New Amsterdam and reappeared as Santa Claus. From there, it was only a chimney-leap to Clement Moore, Charles Dickens, and the Macy’s parade.

Not surprisingly, the rise of Santa™—as an image, a popular icon—coincided with the spread of advertising, from print to broadcast media. Macy’s was the first department store to hire a real Santa Claus to sit and listen to children’s holiday wishes—presumably focused on items easily obtainable in any of its many departments—but others followed suit (a big red suit, in fact).

Nowhere was this commercial trend more evident than in America. Jolly old Saint Nick was well into his transformation into Santa Claus, and he began to appear more and more frequently as a pitchman for breakfast cereals, instant cocoa, fancy watches, radios, razors, war bonds, fruit, cigarettes, jewelry, hats, and other assorted trinkets. It was only a matter of time, then, before the opposing forces of saccharine sentiment and crass commercialism clashed and something dark and new emerged. This was the advent (bad pun fully and cruelly intended) of the Bad Santa.

“Loose-fitting nylon beard, fake optical twinkle, cheap red suit, funny rummy smell…Something scary and off-key about him, like one of those Stephen King clowns.”

—John Updike,
“The Twelve Terrors of Christmas,” 1993

When David Sedaris originally mined his experiences as a Macy’s elf for what became the original Santaland Diaries, he probably little dreamed that he was establishing a foothold in a new and special territory, a twist on the holiday-industrial complex. In Chicago, for instance, the Goodman Theatre’s annual Christmas Carol Holiday Spectacular has for years been wickedly, if affectionately, spoofed across town, in an irreverent alternative version all its own—a Fractured Fairy Tales version of the story that crosses Dickens’ Christmas Carol with Oliver Twist and brims with as many crude jokes and bad puns as can fit between lights up and lights down. Sweet relief for those who’ve finally outgrown getting dragged by parents (or offspring) to year after year of heart-warming Cratchits and Tiny Tims. All across America, similar audiences have thrilled to the crass, wicked, very adult, and truly wrong humor of The Eight: a series of police interview-room style monologues featuring Santa’s reindeer sharing their sides of a murky story, in the face of an explosive scandal brought on when one of the team accuses Santa of sexual harassment on the job.

"My sons call me Scrooge…. But I did do half a deed this year. I helped an old lady halfway across the street at a very busy thoroughfare."

—Zero Mostel, Actor

I could name yet others, some more acerbic and some less, like the hillbilly holiday cheer of Tuna Christmas. But it’s on film that the Bad Santa tradition has truly found a home, and flourished. Since those Martian invaders kidnapped Santa for their nefarious purposes, we’ve seen National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation do to Christmas what it did to pretty much any other cherished family occasion. We’ve watched an assortment of slasher Santas like Silent Night, Deadly Night, merely one entry in a list that also includes Don’t Open Till Christmas, Santa’s Slay, and Christmas Evil. Sassy spoofs like Stephen Colbert’s Christmas Special turn the whole thing inside out—as does a movie like Gremlins, where the entire gift-giving enterprise turns monstrous, and daddy died doing a Santa dive down the chimney.*

“You can’t fool me. There ain’t no sanity clause.”

—Chico Marx, A Night at the Opera (1935)
(Also the title of a 1980 single by The Damned)

The experiences chronicled by Sedaris delve into the full range of department store Santa ethnography, to be sure; he himself, however, was there as an Elf. Whence, you might be tempted to wonder, this odd bit of the Santa lore? How did the jolly fatman come to be surrounded by workshops full of happy, diligent, and diminutive assistants? Well, that too is a synthesis of historical and legendary elements. Sedaris was merely part of a long tradition that gave rise to the Elves.

We think of Santa working merrily away on our wish lists in the company of sprightly little imps, the imaginatively named Santa’s Elves. But while these have their roots in many versions of the Santa tradition, their origins are not always as innocent—sometimes they have more in common with Sedaris’ Crumpet than with our familiar image. For every German Knecht Ruprecht, Norwegian Nisse, or Finnish Tontut—gnomes and sprites who help make toys and track the naughty and the nice—there are tales of Krampus (Austria), a wild-eyed bogeyman who punishes wicked children, or the French Père Fouettard, who takes on the same charge. In Holland, Sinter Klaas has his sidekick Zwarte Piet (Black Pete), either a Moorish assistant or a magical young chimneysweep, who puts sweet treats in the shoes of the nice and carts the naughty off in sacks to Spain.

So, enjoy the words of Mr. Sedaris. Laugh and have a good time. But just know:
Santa is watching, and he knows what you’re thinking…. ❄